*** A/N ***

Required tropey Hollywood medical scene.

"...hope you know I'm just going to keep talking until you wake up. You know I'm capable."

John heard the voice, that voice, before the words registered.

"You'll never have a moment's peace. Not until you wake up." Sherlock's voice broke. "You have to wake up. Your other injuries are... Your spine, everything is fine. Will be fine. But you have to wake up. I keep telling them how clever you are. You're making me look bad, John. And that just isn't on."

The pressure of Sherlock's hand holding John's suddenly disappeared.

John groaned… Tried to groan… To get the hand back.

"John? John are you…" The warm pressure appeared up by his face. Gentle. Calming. "Please," Sherlock whispered.

John's eyes fluttered open, then closed again. Even with the lights dimmed it was too much, too bright. More slowly he tried again, taking his time to focus on one thing at a time.

Sherlock waited for John to focus on him before he moved or spoke again. "John," he breathed, searching John's eyes for recognition.

"Sherlock." John managed a small smile before his eyes drifted closed again. "Stay?"

"Always, John."